The Sure Thing

by Claire Matthews

  He smiled, and their eyes locked for a long moment. His gaze was tender, and it set off a flicker in her stomach that made her gooey and breathless. His hand brushed her nipple again, and then he was standing, his arm now firmly tucked around her waist, lifting her so effortlessly it made her gasp. God, he was strong. She clung to his shoulders and buried her face in his neck as he walked with purpose to the bedroom, and when they hit the bed together, she was suddenly desperate for him.

  She reached for his shirt and began unbuttoning in earnest, getting stuck on one button and then giggling frantically when he took over and ripped it open the rest of the way. He was pretty desperate, too. Liberated from his shirt, he guided her gently on the pillow and nestled his hips between her legs, grinding against her, rubbing his chest over her breasts while he kissed her with those very talented lips. The combination of the coarse tickle of his chest hair on her inflamed nipples, and the hot length of him grinding her through two layers of clothing, almost undid her, and she began to whimper.

  “Nick.”

  “Hmph.” He wouldn't stop kissing her.

  “Take off your pants.”

  “Do I have to?” His face contorted in mock horror.

  “Yes...Nick, please...”

  He stood on his knees, straddling her hips, and reached for the button of his jeans. Becca helped, sliding her hands under his waistband and pushing them and boxers down in one smooth motion. Oh my.

  “C'mere,” she said, urging him on as he duck-stepped up her body, his pants still bunched around his thighs, until his knees nestled under her armpits.

  She raised her head and took the tip of his penis in her mouth, savoring the smooth skin, tonguing the wetness at the tip. He tasted like soap, and man, and sex, and when he moaned her name it shot a hot, urgent message to her core, already wet and slick with excitement. His hand found the back of her head, matching her rhythm, gently urging her on. She stopped and pulled her tongue along the base of his shaft, opening her lips, gazing up at him. He looked blissed out, his eyes closed against his arousal, his head tipped back revealing the strained muscles of his neck. She sharpened her tongue and flicked the sensitive spot along the underside of his head, and felt his his cock twitch, his body shiver. He eased himself away reluctantly.

  “I won't last, Becca.” He slid back down her belly, rubbing his erection over her damp, hot core, her panties now drenched. “And you're making me feel selfish. I want you to feel good, too.” His hand cupped her, hard and high, and the indirect stimulation on her clit made her catch her breath.

  “Yes...I feel good.”

  He kissed her stomach as he unbuttoned her shorts, and she lifted her hips without conscious effort, anything to help him, anything to make this sweet torture end. She had to have him. His fingers parted her, slipped inside her, and she let out a sob of relief. His tongue followed his fingers, licking gently, teasing and tugging her until she thought she might melt right into the mattress. She was close, so close, but she didn't want to come like this, she wanted him inside her, she wanted to see his face as she went over the edge.

  “Nick...please, I want you. I want you inside me.” He lifted his head, and released a groan that was full of lust and need. He dove quickly off the mattress and groped for a condom in the back pocket. Becca squirmed impatiently as he kicked off his jeans and boxers and sheathed himself, her knees pulled high against her shoulders.

  “Becca.” His voice shook, with emotion or desire, she couldn't tell. “You're beautiful. So beautiful.” Moving over her, he gripped himself and rubbed her, up to her clit, then down, slow and teasing. He pushed in an inch then pulled out.

  “Nick...please.” She tried to wiggle her hips against him, but when he resisted, she reached between his legs and cupped his balls in her hands, squeezing gently, tracing her finger between the soft sacs. He let out a grunt and his breathing became labored, uneven. Then her finger wandered back further, exploring gently.

  “Oh God, Becca,” he moaned, and plunged into her.

  He stayed there, and for a moment the room was silent, except for the sound of their labored breathing. He filled her, engulfed her. She felt his hot breath against her neck. It was perfect. He was perfect. But when he finally began to move, it was with a slow, torturous rhythm. In and out, in painstaking control, until her head fell back in frustration.

  “Harder. Jesus, Nick, harder,” she moaned, and right when she thought she'd claw the skin off his back in agony, he picked up the pace, pumping her faster. Then he shifted his hips a few inches up, sending his pelvis grinding into her clit with each thrust, and she knew she was a goner. As the waves of her orgasm hit, she wrapped her legs tight and high around his back, and milked his cock with her contractions. She felt him lunge, lose control of his breathing, and let out a choked cry as he came, his cock pulsing, his stomach clenching with uncontrolled aftershocks.

  After a moment, he let himself rest gently on top of her. She clung to him, feeling too happy, too full, too much. She was feeling too much. She needed to break this spell now, before she did something humiliating like cry, or tell him she loved him. But before she could roll out from under him, he leaned down and kissed her gently.

  “Becca.” He looked at her with serious, intense eyes, and she became uneasy. “I don't want to leave you.”

  Oh, this was bad. This was so, so bad. She opened her eyes extra wide so that tears wouldn't fill them. She dragged her fingertip down his chest, and followed it with her gaze.

  “But the rotting molars in Hermosa Beach need you.”

  “I don't care. I want you.”

  “You hardly know me!”

  “Listen, the first time you had chocolate, when you were a kid, did you think to yourself, ‘Oh, this is nice. Perhaps I'll get to know the hearty cocoa bean over the next few months, and then I might try it again?'”

  “Maybe.”

  “Bullshit. One taste and your brain screamed, 'More! I want more! Screw vegetables, screw whole graints, gimme more chocolate--now!'”

  His damp curls framed his face, his cheeks still flushed from sex. She pushed his hair from his brow and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “But you know better than anyone that too much chocolate is bad for you. Cavities. Emotional entanglement. Yuck.”

  He looked down at her with such tenderness she could hardly stand it. “You could never be bad for me, Becca.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  He left, of course. Come Monday morning, Nick was on a plane back to LA, unbearably low. Going to work, reassuring patients, hell, just getting out of bed became a supreme struggle. It was crazy. He'd spent less than three days with Becca, and her absence now had the power to make him feel cold. Alone. Without hope.

  On Tuesday, he couldn't take it anymore, a whole twenty-four hours without contact, and he sent her a text.

  I just drilled a woman for almost an hour, and I was thinking of you.

  Silly, light. He knew she loved a good drill joke. Half an hour later, he got back:

  Who is this? Dad?

  He spent the rest of the day with a dopey grin on his face, so dopey that his hygienist Debbie started giving him weird looks. When he got home he wanted to call her, but he couldn't. Before he'd left, they'd agreed not to see or call each other until Katie and Jordan's wedding in three weeks. It would give them time to evaluate their feelings. It was also supposed to keep them from missing each other too much, but it seemed like a colossal failure from Nick's perspective. Technically, though, they had not mentioned texting. It took two episodes of Mad Men and three beers before he broke down and sent a message.

  Are you awake?

  His phone was silent for several minutes. Just when he convinced himself she had already gone to bed, he saw the screen light up.

  Yes. Didn't we say no contact, Nicholas?

  So I'm Nicholas now? Am I in trouble?

  Yes. What's your middle name?

  Andrew.

  Well, Nicholas Andrew Brady, you are a terrible r
ule-follower.

  I'm weak. I miss you. May I call you?

  There was a long pause. Nick sucked on his bottom lip.

  Yes, but just for a minute. I'm serious, Nick, we need to stick to our guns here.

  Four hours later, he was sprawled on the couch in his boxers, an empty bag of pretzels on his chest. He'd switched to speakerphone after the second hour, and he was pretty sure Becca had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, but he didn't hang up. He couldn't. Every once in a while he heard her shift her head against her pillow, or sigh in her sleep. He imagined her in the ivory-colored panties and bra she's worn the night before he left. He imagined it very, very vividly, until he began to grow hard. He tossed the pretzel bag on the coffee table, shifted his boxers, and released his erection, stroking himself as a sexy, languid vision of Becca removing her panties played tricks with his brain. He heard her sniffle a bit in her sleep. He was embarrassingly close to climax, like he was back in high school, ready to shoot off in thirty seconds.

  “Nick?” Her voice was low, and rough with sleep.

  Oh God, he was going to come. He reached blindly for a napkin on the table right before his orgasm hit, hard. He caught wave after wave of semen, then slumped back on the couch as he released the last few drops. He cleared his throat and coughed a bit, to hide his ragged breathing.

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I just...had my hands full with something.” God, he was such a pervert.

  “One of us should be an adult and hang up, so we can get some sleep.”

  “Hmm,” he replied. He was still winded from his orgasm. He was so tired. And maybe it was his exhaustion that made him blurt, “Becca, I want to come see you this weekend.”

  “Nick...”

  “I know it's against the rules, but the rules aren't working. Or they're meant to be broken. I don't know, I can't think, I've been awake for almost twenty-four hours. I just know I want to see you.”

  She took a deep breath. “I want to see you, too. But even if we were going to break the rules, which I'm not advocating, by the way, Gabe and I have a huge wedding Saturday, it's going to be a nightmare.

  “Sunday, then.”

  “You'd fly here Sunday, just to turn around and go home on Monday?”

  “Yes.”

  And so he did.

  ****

  It was nine o'clock in the morning when Nick knocked on Becca's door, and he grunted with surprise when she yanked it open and launched herself into his arms. She buried her head between his jaw and shoulder and he inhaled the sweet scent of her skin. He tightened his arms around her and they stayed in the hall of her apartment for a long time. Finally he kicked the door closed with his heel.

  “I missed you,” he whispered against the top of her head, and she lifted her face to him, her smile shy and unsure. His lips met hers, again and again, letting each kiss say what he was still too scared to put into words. You are so beautiful to me. I want to be with you always. I'm falling in love with you.

  “C'mon.” Becca grasped Nick's hands in hers, steering him backward toward her bedroom. “If we're going to break the rules, let's do it right.”

  And boy, did they do it right.

  Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, limp with slick with sweat. He let out a long sigh of contentment and rubbed his nose against her cheek. Her skin was flushed, hot to the touch. As he blew cool circles over her face, she reached up to stroke his curls, wrapping one loosely around her index finger. They lay staring at each other, exchanging the odd peaceful kiss, for a long time. Finally, he rolled on his back and stretched, scratching his stomach with lazy strokes.

  “So, what are we going to do with all this luxurious time together?”

  “When do you have to go?” Her voice was small. She kissed his shoulder.

  “I've got a six-thirty flight tomorrow morning. If there are no delays, I can get to the office by ten.”

  “Yeah, all sleep-deprived and hopped-up on sex.”

  “Oh, God, you promise?”

  She gave his bare chest a satisfying whack. They sat up in bed, facing each other with crossed legs, and planned a morning drive in the desert, then lunch and drinks with Gabe and Logan, then dinner and a show. What they actually did was stay in bed until four then wander to the kitchen in their underwear.

  “Becca...this is kind of awkward, but…who does your grocery shopping?” He turned to her with a box of Twizzlers in his hand. “This is just...I mean, you're a chef, right?”

  She gave him a haughty look. “Yes, but I'm not one of those annoying foodie snobs. There's nothing wrong with a little candy on occasion.”

  “I found this licorice in the vegetable crisper. There are Cadbury eggs in your egg tray.”

  “I might have a problem.”

  “Ya think?” He grinned. “Have you got anything halfway healthy to eat?”

  “Hmm, check in the pantry, I think there's some peanut butter...”

  “Well, that sounds okay.”

  “...cups.”

  “Wow.”

  They managed to find some cheese and crackers, and a bottle of wine left over from the wedding the night before. They ate, and teased, and laughed, but Nick noticed that as day grew into night, there was a desperate tinge to their chatter, and a lingering end to each touch, each kiss. He had to leave tomorrow. He didn't want to.

  “So, Becca...” They were on the balcony of her apartment, on a huge blanket she'd pulled from the back of her closet. He was lying on his back, arms tucked under his head, and her body was stretched out perpendicular from his, using his stomach as a pillow. It was after midnight, and he had to leave for the airport in a few hours. “What would you think about coming to LA next weekend? My treat. An early birthday present.”

  “My birthday's not until July. It's January.”

  “I meant for me.”

  “Oh, when's your birthday?”

  “October.”

  She turned her head and grinned, but her expression was bittersweet. “I've got a shower to cater on Saturday, and then Gabe and I have a booth at some ridiculous bridal show. It's so cheesy, but we get tons of exposure.”

  Nick swallowed a sigh of disappointment. He didn't want to press her, but damn it, he had to leave in four hours, and something had to give.

  “Becca, I know this long-distance thing is difficult, and we're on completely different schedules, but...” He looked down at her face and found her expression was unreadable. What the hell, plow on through, Nick. “I mean, I feel like we have something special here, and I hope you do, too, and I'd like for us to explore it, and see where it goes. I mean, if you want to. Explore it.” Damn, that was lame.

  “Nick--”

  “I love you.” Whoa. Okay, he hadn't meant to say that, but her blank expression was freaking him out.

  “Nick, people don't fall in love in a week.”

  “No, of course not, but they do in nine days. They totally do in nine days, right?” And then her sad smile told him that this was not going very well at all.

  “I think they fall in like...and fall in lust...” She reached up and touched his cheek tentatively, as though she thought he might slap it away. “But I also think that they have to be realistic. I mean, if one person has spent years building a successful dental practice in LA, and has partners, and patients, and lots of responsibilities…”

  “But, Becca…”

  “…a-a-a-nd the other person has finally gotten her life together after years of chaos, and has a partner, and clients, and lots of responsibilities…”

  “But we can figure all that out.”

  “How?” She sat up, arms crossed in front of her.

  “Well...lots of people need caterers in LA...”

  “And lots of people have crappy teeth in Vegas.”

  “Yes, you're right. Of course, you're right.”

  “Are you prepared to chuck everything and move here?” She looked
almost angry now, daring him to answer. God, he was such a dick.

  “I don't know,” he said. He felt silly now, and he dropped his head in shame and frustration.

  “Look, Nick. I feel this too, the pull between us.” She rose up on her knees and scooted towards him. “You have to know I do.” She straddled his lap, and pulled his face up so he was looking into her eyes. “But I've chucked it all for a guy before, moved for him, changed for him, made all kinds of disastrous decisions. For him. I just can't do it again. I'm not that girl anymore.”

  “And I'm not that guy, Becca.”

  “I know,” she sighed, her finger touching the button on his collar, scratching it absently. “I know.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They woke to the sound of Nick's beeping cell phone. It was four-thirty in the morning, and they'd ended up sleeping on the balcony. Becca snuggled in the crook of Nick's arm, wanting to throw the damn phone over the balcony rail, until he groaned and clicked it off.

  “I'll be getting up now,” Nick said, but he remained still.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, right now. R-i-i-i-ght now.”

  “C'mon.” She pulled him up and in the apartment, and made a pot of coffee while he showered. She resisted the urge to walk in and watch him, not in a sexual way, okay, maybe a bit in a sexual way, but more in a homey, girlfriend-y way. Watch him shower, and shave, and brush his teeth, and perform all the little rituals they never got to share. But she stayed in the kitchen.

  She'd planned her speech in her head last night, as the breeze blew across the balcony, and Nick's chest rose and fell in a soothing rhythm under her cheek. But when she heard the zipper of his suitcase closing shut, her mind began to spin. It was so early, too early. They both needed coffee and they were working on very little sleep. When he came into the living room, looking very respectable and dentist-like in a shirt and tie, she began to panic. Oh, there was no way she could do this. Could she?=

  “I made you some coffee.” She held out a mug as he came to the breakfast bar.